


distractions

by shoutz



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Consentacles, Dom/sub Undertones, Gender-Neutral Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Genderless Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Soul Sex, Tentacles, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz
Summary: A study session gone awry (or, perhaps, exactly according to plan).He finally relents, looking up from his notes to address you. The gold in them is molten with the low light, a captivating color that nearly has a glow all its own. The bags beneath his eyes hang darker than usual, though, perhaps due to the late hour and the fact that both of you are in the library studying when you’d much rather be elsewhere doing other things. His hair is mussed just slightly out of place and you resist the urge to comb it back to normal.Or, instead, to further dishevel him.“Pardon me for wanting to go into my examinations with something prepared in advance. Improvisation is not so much my forte as it is yours. If I truly want to be considered for this Convocation seat, they will accept nothing but perfection.” He sighs, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Oh, but I just want to be done with this. It’s already so late. I’ll just finish this last bit and try to sleep before tomorrow.”You flash him a wicked smirk as an idea strikes you. “Or…”“Or?”
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	distractions

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this was written for a very very kind anon, i hope she enjoys it and i hope YOU enjoy it

“On second thought… Hm. I really don’t think this will be structurally sound. If the center of gravity is _here_ and with this amount of mass then… No, it won’t be stable enough to move freely—”

“Hades.”

“And it wouldn’t be able to carry the designated load either, not under any amount of duress, and not nearly fast enough… Which considering past examinations, will need to be accounted for—”

A sigh. “Hades.”

“But if there were _four_ legs instead of just two, and… Oh, and _wings,_ yes, then maybe it could—”

_“Hades.”_

He finally stops his yammering and looks up across the table at you. Your chin sits in your hands as your elbows rest on the myriad notes scattered across the table. You’ve managed to hold your pen between your nose and pursed lips, watching him with a bored stare.

The small library chamber is lit low, warm orange light emanating from the lamp on the table that lends a cozy atmosphere to the room. Bookshelves line the walls, stacked high with tomes and documents which may or may not help your current project along. Not that you would know; studying for examinations rarely helps you succeed considering your innate talent for creation. Though out of the kindness of your heart you’ve agreed to assist Hades in _his_ preparation, at least. He had been grateful for the help, but you quickly grew restless, attention jumping back and forth between the notes and Hades’ lips and the books and—

Well. There are things you’d certainly much rather be doing.

The late hour affords you some privacy, though you’ve commandeered this specific chamber so your chatter won’t disturb other students studying for what is likely the same examination. It has been several hours since anyone even so much as passed the door to your chambers. Perhaps even the library staff has gone home for the night.

Leaving ample opportunity for all manner of—

“You could help, you know.” Hades gestures to the notes spread in front of the two of you. You blink and look down at the diagram you had started but never finished, a meager attempt at preparing alongside him. Unfinished lines cross the page and you wonder for a moment what you had even meant to be drafting in the first place. “You’re not doing anything,” he says before going back to his draft.

 _“You’re_ not doing anything. You stopped being productive an hour ago! Just sitting there staring blankly at your notes will not make the examination any easier,” you chide. The pen falls from your face to clatter amidst the pages on the table, abandoned long ago in favor of watching Hades struggle with his own work instead. “You always do this.”

 _“I_ always do this? You don’t have any right to talk about my work ethic,” he grumbles, sketching a new diagram within the lines of his previous creation. “I at least try to be diligent. You wait until the _last possible moment_ to do anything.”

“And yet somehow I outpace you.” Hades scoffs at you, shaking his head, but there’s a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. It’s almost unfairly charming, but you continue, “It’s true! You get frazzled and then you rush and it affects your work. It’s as simple as that.”

“You say that as if you’re not just as lost on this concept as I am!” he says, and the fact that no librarian has meandered over to shush your argument confirms your prior suspicions about the library’s current population. A veritable ghost town. _Perfect._ “Such a creation is like nothing we’ve ever been taught in our lectures—”

“Is that not the point of an examination?” you interrupt, and his hackles rise. “To test our ability to adapt, to apply what we’ve learned in a more practical manner?” you ask, prodding. You see his hackles begin to rise and try not to be so outwardly satisfied with it.

“There is merit to having ideas and concepts ready in advance,” he says, and you know he has a point, but you find a strange pleasure in seeing him grow so defensive. “If something were to somehow befall Amaurot, I would rather the Convocation bring forth a construct that might actually save us than some reactionary, half-baked plan made up on the spot which may or may not work.”

“Why must those two concepts be mutually exclusive?” you ask with a hand outstretched, watching his brow furrow. “Can’t something be improvised to adapt to the situation at hand _and_ succeed in the ways it is meant to succeed?”

He finally relents, looking up from his notes to address you. The gold in them is molten with the low light, a captivating color that nearly has a glow all its own. The bags beneath his eyes hang darker than usual, though, perhaps due to the late hour and the fact that both of you are in the library studying when you’d much rather be elsewhere doing other things. His hair is mussed just slightly out of place and you resist the urge to comb it back to normal.

Or, instead, to further dishevel him.

“Pardon me for wanting to go into my examinations with _something_ prepared in advance. Improvisation is not so much my forte as it is yours. If I truly want to be considered for this Convocation seat, they will accept nothing but perfection.” He sighs, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Oh, but I just want to be done with this. It’s already so late. I’ll just finish this last bit and try to sleep before tomorrow.”

You flash him a wicked smirk as an idea strikes you. “Or…”

“Or?”

You lift a lazy finger and a gossamer strand of your aether extends into the air, floating towards him in no particular rush or intent. His eyes catch on it, momentarily off-guard. “Or, we could _relieve_ some of the pent-up stress you’ve been carrying around.”

The strand thickens into something with more substance, and you twist your finger _just so_ to watch the tip of it trace along his jawline. You hear him swallow thickly and he averts his eyes, a quiet flush creeping up his neck.

“Persephone,” he ekes out, breathy.

“Hades.” _Hook, line…_

“I need to finish this.”

You try hard not to sigh but the disappointment lingers in your tone. “It’ll still be there when we’re done with each other.” You pause, let the tendril press against his lower lip, teasing. “Or, well, when _I’m_ done with you.”

He flounders, flustered. “We— We are in the _library—_ ”

“In a private chamber, and in the dead of night. Not even the ghosts will hear you moaning, I promise you that,” you say, and the blush quickens its pace to his cheeks. You see the consideration in his eyes, his desire written plain upon his face and posture. You redouble your efforts, prodding into the softest parts of him, coaxing him away from his work. “Nothing wrong with a little break every now and again.”

“But— we—”

A smirk creeps across your face and your aether tendril retreats from his lips. Instead you let your aether extend out below the table, a dark shadow of crimson spreading beneath you, manifesting in two additional thicker tendrils that trace gentle, teasing paths up his legs. He shifts at the sensation but doesn’t otherwise move, breath suspended. They slide gently up across his upper thighs, and his reverie shatters when one presses against his cock where it sits hard beneath his robes.

 _“Hah…”_ a whining breath escapes him in a slow exhale. He shifts in his seat and his gaze burns as it finds yours once more. In it you see _want,_ brazen and raw within two golden eyes.

_Sinker._

“Tell me to stop,” you say, sing-song with the satisfaction of a hunter who has finally trapped its prey. It’s an out, should he desire it, though you know full well how horrid he is when it comes to restraint from you. Your aether undulates against his cock in slow pulses, at once too much and not nearly enough. Breath escapes his lungs in short pants and his eyes refuse to leave yours, heated and heavy.

He shakes his head, ever slightly.

“Tell me you want it,” you reiterate, shifting your tendril of aether beneath the table just slightly away. He whines, shifting closer to it in his seat, restless and needy.

_“Please.”_

Your smirk could cut stone as you watch him squirm beneath your gaze. It would be too easy to take that concession at face value, to accept that as consent. You have always been fond of making him work for it. “Tell me you _want it,_ my dearest Hades. I will not settle for less.”

“I…” He swallows hard, and you watch his throat move with the reflex. Your mouth nearly waters with how much you want to kiss it, to bite and mark him for the entire city to see. For them all to know he belongs to you.

_“I want it.”_

Your cue to _pounce._

You push up from the table and in the same movement, your aether drags his chair back from the table. A few quick steps carry you to the other side, to him, and with this new proximity he stands and collides with you as if you have your own gravitational pull. You grip his collar and pull him into a bruising kiss; he fists his hands in your robes as well, grasping for some anchor to the sensations keeping him dizzy.

The aether clings to him, though, slipping beneath his robes to resume their gentle teasing. You ease him backwards until he bumps into a bookshelf, using the surface as leverage to deepen your kiss.

Your hands abandon his robes, sliding across his shoulders and down his arms to grasp his wrists. A strangled noise escapes him as you pin them next to his head, rendering him vulnerable.

As if he wasn’t vulnerable enough already.

You kiss him fervently, heavily, hungrily. His breathing turns ragged and he tries to use some leverage against the bookshelf to reciprocate, pushing closer for even the slightest amount of contact between your bodies. The power is in your hands, though, and you deny him with a firm touch holding him back, barely out of reach. The only points of contact are the hands at his wrists and your lips as they devour him, biting and sucking and _indulging._

Aether flares around him, deep and wanting. He groans as the tip of one tendril strokes gently along the length of his cock beneath his robes and smallclothes. It is a noise you swallow happily, insatiably, full with the knowledge that it is meant for _you_ and you alone.

You pull back, hovering at his jaw line, smirk wicked upon lips red from kissing. _“Shh…_ My dearest Hades, are you trying to get me in trouble?” you tease. “We are in the _library…_ Have some restraint.” Your whisper ghosts along his neck and he shivers at the sensation. He swallows thickly and you give into the temptation to lick a slow stripe along his pulse.

“You — _ah_ — you… You said—”

“Hmm. On second thought, you can be as loud as you want… Let the whole academy — the whole _city_ know how well I fuck you.” Your aether wraps around his length and strokes gently, a grip barely there to keep him whining and squirming. Two tendrils wrap around his ankles and nudge his legs apart, and a third forms to shirk his underclothes. His cheeks burn hot and you kiss them — coaxing, barely present presses of your lips against the soft skin.

He tilts his face towards yours to convince you to move your attention to his lips, but you stay just out of reach. He whines, a small noise, but you want _more_.

“Ah, ah… Use your words,” you urge.

He opens his mouth to speak, and instead of letting him say his piece you seize the opportunity to further unravel him with a long, firm stroke of his cock by the tendril that had teased him endlessly until now. Instead of words he lets out a louder groan, an exhalation that barely takes form.

“I — _oh…_ You t-tease me so…” His fingers flex where they’re pinned against the bookshelf, barely concealing their urge to touch, to take matters into his own hands, to seize his own pleasure, but you hold firm. “Cruel… Remorseless. A right and true monster. Have you — _oh_ — have you even a single drop of mercy?”

You grin, sharp, and meet his eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

 _“No,”_ he breathes immediately, and in his eyes desperation smolders like cinders beneath the bright gold. Tempting, taunting, beckoning you closer. 

“Hmm… Are you sure?” A blush takes hold of his cheeks, a wave of deep red that makes his eyes shine. “Give voice to your _true_ desires and mayhap I shall grant them.”

His lower lip juts in a pout at that, and he can’t meet your eyes. His defiant silence is telling, though you can feel his undeniable arousal through your aether as it strokes him languorously. You hum, noncommittal, and will it to retreat entirely. “I suppose not, then.”

 _“Nnn…”_ He lets out a hushed whine and squirms in your grasp, though it isn’t quite strong enough to qualify as an attempt to break free. His eyes flutter closed and his hips thrust out from the bookshelf, seeking some friction but finding none.

“You hold the reins, dearest. I await only your word…” you croon, and your voice rolling through him wrings a louder whine from his lungs. You press slow, gentle kisses down his jaw, following the line towards his lips and reveling in the shaky breaths and quiet tells of his need.

“Please, I…” He swallows, and you smirk as you pull back to look at him. He flushes deeper under your scrutiny, hesitates in continuing his thought. “Y-You know not how I need you…”

“Oh? Pray enlighten me, then, if you would be _so kind,”_ you trail off to a whisper, a hair’s breadth between your lips and the shell of his ear. He shudders, and your aether returns to resume its ministrations on his cock to encourage his cooperation.

But, even still, his stubbornness rears its head again. He holds his tongue with a defiant turn of his head, and you sigh. “I will wring the words from your lips…one way or another,” you taunt as your aether flares. His eyes widen and dilate as they take in your hue, only to squeeze closed when your aether tendril wraps around the base of his cock, restricting just this side of too much.

 _"Nn…_ Please, I…” He bites his lip against further comment and you stroke once, maintaining your punishing grip on his length. _“Fuck—_ I-I am _insatiable_ , I crave you so fully, there— _oh!_ There is nothing I wouldn’t—” You chuckle as the words fall from his lips, spilling forth before they lose their form and devolve into moans so sweet you wish you could taste them. Gradually, you let your aether grant his desires, gentler strokes against him instead of restricting just to hear his words devolve.

“Hmm? I’m afraid I don’t speak that language,” you jest, playful, but it only serves to brighten the pink of his ears. “Try again, but… _slower.”_

He takes a deep, shaking breath to compose himself. It doesn’t help much. His next words emerge in careful parts as his cheeks burn hot. “Please, my love, I… I am yours, irrevocably, unconditionally, to do with as you please, to…t-to—” Even slowed, his words yet again fall apart as they escape his lungs, falling prey to your aether’s slow, deliberate, heavy strokes against his cock.

“To what, dear? Speak up,” you say, goading for more, only this time his task is made all the more difficult as your aether continues its unhurried pace. You press your lips against his pulse to feel it jump, hummingbird wings beating frantically against flushed skin.

“To _use,”_ he sighs, a rush of air through lungs which barely remember how to function. _Perfect._ “To _ruin.”_

You smirk, satisfied, and one of your tentacles of aether presses slowly into him, warm and slick with your conjuration. His head _thunks_ back against the bookshelf and his legs spread wider of their own volition before your aether can do it for him.

It presses in like a tide, an ebb and flow easing its way until he’s stretched wide enough to take more, more, _more_ as he begs for it to varying levels of coherency.You sink your teeth into his neck as the pleasure floods through your body, aether transmitting the ghosts of sensation through your nerve endings like levin. The bite is barely enough to create small crescents against his skin but he lets loose a punched-out groan at merely the promise, the knowledge that if you wanted to, you could mark him.

But you refrain for now.

Your hands slide further down his wrists to twine your fingers in his, aether spreading from every ilm of your body to converge with his own aura. Like this you can feel his pleasure like a phantom against your soul, a shared euphoria in an echo chamber that only serves to heighten your need for him, and thus his need for you.

He whines, squeezing your hands as your tentacle presses in further, filling him, leaving him incoherent. Through his love-drunk stupor he pleads breathlessly for _more_ — a demand that in any other scenario you would refuse, perhaps even so much as punish. How _shameless_ of him to beg for something he has yet to earn. But, oh, even so…

You have your limits too, it seems.

Hades’ aether flares bright as the tendril nudges into him _just so,_ and it has him keening and bucking his hips with enough force that you struggle to keep him pinned. The auras mix into a brilliant confluence of color, a visual manifestation of your pleasures as they collide and expand within each other. Hades watches them mingle with half-lidded, teary eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth in a meager attempt to quiet the litany of moans and sighs and gasps.

One of your hands abandons his and sneaks behind him and beneath his robes, seeking the feel of him directly rather than through your aether. The slick you conjured has done a remarkable job; you slide two fingers into the mess with velvety ease. The clench of his muscles around your aether tentacle had been muted, a fuzzy feeling, but now that a more substantial part of you is pressing into him, you luxuriate in how thoroughly he comes undone beneath your touch.

His hand squeezes the one still clasped around it, while the newly freed fingers find your hair and thread carefully into the strands, holding you closer, a small freedom he gladly takes. You finally relent and stroke him earnestly, quickening your aether tendril’s pace around his cock as you thrust your fingers in and out of him.

You add a third finger to stretch him further, and curl your fingers inside him, and tighten the grip around his length as you speed your strokes, until…

_Rapture._

His chest presses against yours as he arches against the bookshelf, desperate for contact, for fusion, to be as near to you as possible as he comes. You relent and press your body against his in a hard line. His moans pitch high and loud even after you cover his mouth with yours in a hungry, claiming kiss. With newfound proximity he ruts his hips against yours, riding out his release with reckless abandon.

Your aether continues pumping his cock until he whines from the surplus stimulation, and you will it to dissipate entirely. The two of you come down gasping, his orgasm wringing nearly as much from your soul as it did his. Your shadow and the floor beneath Hades return to normal and you sigh as the aether returns to you, spent and sated. You remove your fingers from him and receive a quiet whine at the loss. You clean him off as best you can and he blinks slowly at you, watching with a slightly dazed smile.

You press a soft kiss against his lips, chaste yet doting, and let his wrists fall back to his sides. You take them one at a time and start rubbing feeling back into them, easing the marks out where you had gripped too firmly. He remains leaned against the bookshelf for support, balance yet to return to his weakened knees.

You lose yourself to the little tasks, the gentle tucking and sorting to make him whole once more. As you dote upon the minutiae, your mind drifts. Echoes of your prior conversation come back, the reason you had gone to the library with him in the first place, and your ideas begin to flow.

“I think if the center of gravity was lowered, the four legs would suffice to carry it and there would be no need to waste aether on adding wings,” you muse, smoothing out the front of his robe.

He blinks at you, and it takes a moment for your words to register in his mind. “The… The creation?”

You try to rearrange his hair back into some semblance of order, nodding absently. “More efficient that way. If the center of gravity was lower to the ground then the legs would be more stable. Before they were just too tall. And wings would give it some scant mobility but actually _lifting_ something of that mass wouldn’t be feasible unless the wings were…” You run the calculation in your head, rough estimations of equations you think may be relevant from your lectures.

You lose your train of thought when you catch Hades’ eyes, glimmering with fondness as he watches you work and think. A slight smile ticks at the corner of his lips, bringing with it a warmth that takes you by surprise.

He tilts his head to the side, inquisitive. “Go on?”

You catch yourself, then and blush with the realization. As adamant as you had been about taking and passing this examination with minimal preparation, the idea had made its pesky way back into your brain to fester until you acknowledged it. Appealing as it was to push your work out of sight and mind…

“Apologies,” you step back from him and straighten your own clothes; though they don’t need it, your hands and eyes are happy for the distraction instead of lingering on Hades for an overly (and embarrassingly) long time. A heat rises to your cheeks, but you ignore it. “I was…just pondering. Thinking out loud. We should clean this mess and depart, before a librarian decides to pay us an unwelcome visit—”

“No, the concept— I think you might be onto something…” Hades walks on shaky feet back to the table in the center of the room, leafing through a few of the notes still haphazardly spread upon its surface. “My design was far too elaborate, too lofty and detailed to function as the instructor requires it…”

You sigh, palms pressing into your eyes as you refuse to join him near the desk. “I should have held my tongue.”

“Nonsense! Look—” He gestures to some pages of notes as he rearranges them. Quill in hand, he begins to redesign the original construct. “This amount of height gives it a level of instability that not even wings could correct. I hadn’t been using the proper calculations—”

You interrupt him with a groan, turning towards the bookshelf and resting your forehead against it in defeat. “I thought that perhaps the right amount of _distraction_ would lure you away from this draining work but it seems I have only spurred you forth.”

The shuffling of papers halts for a brief moment. You feel his eyes on your back, hear his footsteps as he approaches to smooth gentle hands across your shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pressing close as his soothing touch trails down your arms. “How ignoble of me to ignore your needs after so selfishly seeking my own… I will pack these away and we can leave this place, and I will return the _favor_ to the best of my abilities.” You perk up; his deft fingers reach your hips and hold. “Does that sound reasonable, my dear?”

You turn to face him. His hands stay in place at your hips, his hold shifting as you do. Your eyes lock with his and there’s a fire there, undimmed, nearly outshining the lamps that light the room.

You smirk.

“You will return the favor, my dearest Hades. And _then_ some.”

* * *

Hades is late.

Though this does not come as a surprise to you considering what you had done to him last night — _all_ of what you had done to him last night — you still tap your foot impatiently outside the door to the Akadaemia as you wait. Robes adorned and books in much neater order than the night before, you are as prepared for the examination as you could be.

The same cannot be said for Hades.

He had stayed up late into the night redesigning his concept, late enough that he had still been asleep when you finished getting ready for the day. Fond as he is of sleep, it was inadvisable of him to cling so heavily to it with an examination on the horizon.

But, a few moments later, he appears. Hades hurries towards you, the morning’s dishevelment clear in his clothes and his organization and his rush. He skids to a halt before you, panting for breath.

“Why are you…waiting outside? The examination…”

“Is not for another ten minutes,” you counter evenly, smiling at him. He catches his breath and by ilms, the realization sets in.

“T… Ten minutes? But I thought you… You got up, and—”

“—Fetched breakfast?”

You hold a small paper bag out to him. You shake it and its contents rattle within: two scones, one for each of you. He blinks at it owlishly, and a smile takes its sweet time in unfurling from his lips.

Oh, but how wholly it captivates you.

“And with ample time to enjoy it,” you add, turning towards the building and heading inside.

You lead him into the Akadaemia and towards a vacant table in the foyer hall, setting your things aside and sitting across from him. The high ceilings and intricate architecture climb ever upwards, glimmering gold and pristine marble lit by opalescent sconces. Other students mill about, chatting idly or reviewing the same notes Hades scrambles to set out.

Once his papers are arranged to a seemingly proper order, you set your bag of scones atop the mass. He’s quick to open it and indulge as crumbs scatter across the tabletop.

“I’m so hungry,” he murmurs between bites, eyes glued to his notes. They detail a redesign of the original creation that had more stability in mind than before. He had drafted it last night — once you had your fill. It took him considerably less time to construct a concept more concentrated around function than an impressive form once his head had been cleared of the notion of grandeur. You found yourself almost proud of him, after a fashion.

“I don’t see the point in studying this close to the examination,” you comment with a small grin. “If the information isn’t in your head by now, it won’t ever be.”

He glances up for a moment, before his gaze returns to the notes. “I had _meant_ to study more last night, but a certain insatiable someone had other plans.”

You smirk, not knowing to which of you he refers.

“My point stands. If you didn’t know before, you won’t! There’s no point in studying more.” He makes a noise of acknowledgement, but doesn’t look up at you. “Why do you still try to cram it all in your head? You won’t have room for anything else, you know.”

“There’s plenty of room. That’s why I’m still studying,” he counters through a bite of scone.

You sigh. “What else is there to review? You know the construct, we mapped it out and everything, I even listed all the equations you’ll need and made a pneumonic device—”

“What do you think I’m studying?” he asks. He looks up and holds out the paper to you; you recognize your looping handwriting upon the page you had written up last night between…

_Well._

He sets the paper back down and you watch his eyes skim over the letters and numbers. You pout, resting your chin in your hands and your elbows on the table. Back to square one, yet again: Hades’ attention elsewhere when it should be on you instead. The examination is important, you’re willing to concede that much, but more important than _you?_

He could certainly do with a reminder.

So, you remind him. Your aether once more extends beneath the table to trail gently against his upper thighs, slow touches barely skimming over his robes. He jolts and chokes on a breath, looking up at you with wide eyes. Indeed, such debauchery would be ill-advised in a public place like the Akadaemia hall, far more heavily populated than the secluded library chamber you had occupied the night before.

A dark blush creeps up his neckline, barely visible beneath his robes only to disappear beneath his mask. His attention is _quite_ averted from his notes.

“Hmm. Perhaps I should reward your hard work, after this is finished,” you suggest, voice low enough that others around you cannot hear. “Something for you to look forward to.”

“I…” He swallows hard, watching you carefully, waiting for your next move. “I would—”

The bell tolls the hour, interrupting his thoughts. You pull your aether back to yourself and smile at his stunned expression, standing from the table with a coy wink.

“Come now, Hades, or this time we will _truly_ be late.”

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: consentacles 2: my, how the turn tables
> 
> if you want to see my dragon's hoard of ideas they are on twitter [@shoutzwastaken](http://twitter.com/shoutzwastaken)
> 
> i reserve my best ideas for the incredible folks over at [the book club](https://discord.gg/X6NJJAb)


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